Galma.
2307.
Four nights til the full moon.
4th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Haemia.
Haemia's hands trembled as she hurriedly packed up her belongings, her heart pounding in her chest. She had never imagined such a day would come – the day she would have to leave everything behind and flee. Despite Galma being a small island, her world had always been confined to the village. She had never ventured beyond its borders, never felt the need to.
But everything she knew, everything that had felt like home, was slipping away.
Lady Lezlea's orders had been clear.
The Terebinthians were coming.
Galma would be under attack.
Haemia had heard the rumours, the whispers in the duke's residence of a fleet approaching, but hearing it from Lezlea herself was different. The Lady of Galma had always been a pillar of strength, a steady hand in times of crisis. But she had spoken with urgency, with the weight of something far darker looming over them.
They had to evacuate.
The village was no longer safe.
Haemia could hardly grasp the gravity of the situation. The thought of leaving her home, her life, filled her with dread. The mountains had always been something distant, they were too far, too unknown.
She wasn't sure she could make it, let alone make it with her family in tow.
But Lezlea's words echoed in her mind.
They had no choice.
She swallowed hard and glanced around her modest room, trying to steady her thoughts. Everything she had known, everything that had comforted her for years, was now at risk. She quickly shoved clothes into a small pack – her spare dress, a blanket, the few small mementos she had kept over the years. The weight of each item, each memory, felt like a burden.
What if they didn't make it?
What if she never saw her home again?
Her breath hitched as she looked out the window, the sky beginning to darken as the sun set on another peaceful day.
"Haemia?"
The girl spun, the bag falling from her hands.
Liliandil stood in the doorway of Haemia's small bedroom, her radiant presence filling the space with an almost otherworldly light. Her father, who had been standing just behind the lady, wore a look of sheer astonishment as he gazed at the star, his mouth slightly agape. Haemia could understand the expression all too well.
It was a look of awe, of reverence, as though seeing something so impossibly beautiful had rendered him momentarily speechless.
Liliandil's silken white hair shimmered even in the dimming light of the room, cascading down her back like a waterfall of light. Her eyes, deep pools of unfathomable indigo, caught the fading sunlight and seemed to glow with an ethereal warmth. She was more than just a woman – she was something beyond, something celestial, a being whose very presence made the mundane world seem distant, unreal.
Haemia's father, a man who had lived his life with his feet firmly planted on the ground, was clearly in the grip of a quiet wonder. Haemia couldn't blame him. Liliandil was not like any other person they had ever seen. She was the kind of beauty and magic that stories were written about.
Liliandil's gaze shifted from her father to Haemia, and though her expression remained calm and serene, there was a softness in her eyes.
A quiet understanding.
As Liliandil gently helped Haemia gather the few belongings she had left, the simple, everyday actions began to ground Haemia in a way that surprised her. The star, though so otherworldly and magnificent, knelt beside her, folding clothes and securing them into a satchel as if she were nothing more than a fellow woman preparing for a journey.
The soft rustle of fabric, the sound of items being packed away, the quiet exchange of words – they felt real, tangible. Haemia's breath hitched as she realized that Liliandil wasn't just some celestial being here to help save them. She was mortal, in a way, with the same tenderness, the same need to care for others, even if her light came from the stars themselves.
The thought overwhelmed Haemia's heart, and for the first time in days, she let herself feel the weight of everything crashing down upon her.
The world outside her small room felt distant, muffled by the reality of the impending storm, but here, in this intimate space, Haemia could no longer keep it in. The fear, the terror that had been gnawing at her since the news of the attack broke, finally surged up.
"I don't know how to do this," Haemia whispered, her voice trembling. Her hands faltered, pausing in their work of tying the pack, the reality sinking in. "I'm not strong like you. What if my family... what if we don't make it? What if the Terebinthians win?"
Tears, hot and unexpected, began to spill down her cheeks. She didn't want to cry – not in front of Liliandil, not in front of the star – but the floodgates had opened, and she couldn't stop them.
Liliandil paused, her hands stilling on the pack, and for a moment, Haemia thought she might step back, or worse, pity her. Instead, she felt the soft brush of Liliandil's hand on her shoulder, a warm, reassuring touch.
"Haemia," Liliandil said, her voice so gentle, so steady, that it was as if the very air around them calmed with her words. "It's okay to be afraid. I am, too."
Haemia's sobs broke free in earnest, her hands clutched to her chest as she wept, the fear too much to contain. For the first she allowed herself to feel the full weight of what was happening. The island she had always known, her home, was about to be torn apart. Her family, her people – how could they stand against Boltan of Terebinthia, with his cruelty, his might?
Liliandil didn't pull away. She didn't judge or try to offer empty promises. She simply stayed there, with Haemia, her presence a quiet strength.
"It's all right," Liliandil whispered again, her hand moving to gently guide Haemia's tear-streaked face upward. "You are not alone."
The sincerity in her words broke through Haemia's fear, if only for a moment.
She nodded, wiping her eyes, a shaky breath escaping her lips as she left the tiny bedroom.
Haemia stood in the centre of her small stone house, her eyes scanning the familiar surroundings one last time. The walls, once warm with the laughter of family, now felt cold and hollow. The humble furnishings – a worn table, the mismatched chairs, the faded rug in the corner – seemed to mock the urgency of her departure. She ran a trembling hand over the smooth surface of the wooden table, the grain beneath her fingertips familiar, soothing, but impossibly distant now.
The shelves were near-empty.
Her mother had already packed away the few cherished trinkets they had, and her father was busy gathering their most essential belongings. A sudden surge of emotion threatened to overtake her, but she pushed it down. There was no time for grief.
She moved slowly, taking in the final details of her home. The quiet crackling of the fire in the hearth was the only sound that filled the otherwise still house. She knew she should leave, knew they needed to go, but a part of her was rooted to the spot, unwilling to leave the place that had always been her sanctuary.
The house had been a place of comfort and warmth. It had witnessed her childhood, the days of laughter and games with the other children of the village. It had held her in moments of joy when she had first been hired at the duke's residence, sorrow, and every emotion in between. She could still hear the echoes of her father's deep laugh, the softness of her mother's voice as she hummed songs while cooking.
It seemed as though the very walls were holding their breath, waiting for what was to come. The weight of the world seemed to settle on her shoulders as she stood frozen, overwhelmed by the finality of it all.
Taking a deep breath, Haemia turned toward the door, a quiet resolve settling over her.
She glanced around one more time, committing the image to memory before stepping toward the door. The weight of her decision pressed heavily on her chest, but with a final glance over her shoulder, she stepped out into the street.
Haemia felt her heart pound as she stepped away from the doorway, her family gathered around her, their meagre belongings packed and ready to be carried. They joined the flow of people, a sea of faces, all tense and uncertain, moving swiftly toward the dense jungle that bordered their village. The air was thick with fear, the sky heavy with the weight of impending doom. The crunch of dry leaves beneath their feet was a stark contrast to the silence that had settled over the village.
Haemia's eyes flickered back toward the house, toward Liliandil standing in the open doorway, her form framed by the soft glow of the setting sun. The star's silver hair shimmered like moonlight, but her expression was one of quiet resolve, a quiet strength that Haemia had come to admire in such a short time. She could see the pain in her eyes, though, the sorrow of leaving behind her own world to fight for theirs.
For a fleeting moment, Haemia wanted to run back to her, to say something – anything – but the words caught in her throat. She couldn't go back. She had to keep moving.
"Goodbye," Haemia whispered under her breath, though she wasn't sure if Liliandil could hear her from so far away.
And then, as the wave of people pressed onward, Haemia found herself swallowed by the jungle, the sounds of the village fading behind her. The path ahead was unknown, fraught with danger, but there was no turning back now. She only hoped that by the time they returned, the island would still be theirs.
As the dense trees and underbrush closed in around her, she kept moving, the sounds of the jungle mixing with the silent prayers in her heart, hoping beyond all hope that they would survive the coming storm.